


The Shades of Magic Halloween Spooky Special

by OrchidScript



Category: Shades of Magic - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Goes from now until Friday the 13th, Halloween, Spooky one-shots, multiple AUs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27317650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrchidScript/pseuds/OrchidScript
Summary: "When Kell had given him the list of places around Boston that Ned could research, he had been humoring the other boy. Just feeding the obsession a little, adding a little fuel to the fire. He figured that as soon as classes started up in earnest, the Englishman would drop the podcast nonsense and they could be normal drinking buddies, maybe friends. That was five months ago. Now, Kell was standing in an asylum’s cemetery, freezing cold, in the dark."A series of sometimes-related spooky shorts featuring the Shades of Magic crew. I've had these planned for a little while and will publishing them as they come to me.
Kudos: 8





	1. Ghost Hunting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinkcupboardwitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkcupboardwitch/gifts).



> Originally published on Tumblr. Ned has a podcast, Kell is a whiner.

Kell crossed his arms tightly over his chest, scowling at his coat collar repeatedly flipped up in the late October wind. “This is the worst idea you’ve ever had. The. Absolute. Worst.” **  
**

“I told you you could wait in the car, Kell,” Ned called from somewhere behind him. The last Kell had checked, the other boy was stepping from headstone to headstone, checking each name with a flashlight. “And you didn’t have to come. You offered to drive.”

“Because you’re terrible at driving on the right side of the road.”

“It’s the wrong side of the road.”

“Right.”

“Wait. Right as in the right side or right as in I’m right?”

“Right side, Ned.”

“Oh… Wrong then.”

Kell let out a harsh breath and tucked himself further into his coat. He should have brought a hat. He should have worn thicker socks. He should have stayed in the car. He should have said no when Ned asked if he wanted to go on a research trip with him to Danvers on a Saturday night. Kell should have known better than to think it was for something class-related. He couldn’t count on one hand the times he had seen Ned Tuttle working on anything other than his podcast.

 _The Enthusiast_.

Kell had given him the title after two drinks at the Stone’s Throw and he had regretted it from the next morning on. Ned had loved it. He even had a little logo for it now to go with the eight unpublished episodes he was waiting to put out into the world.

When Kell had given him the list of places around Boston that Ned could research, he had been humoring the other boy. Just feeding the obsession a little, adding a little fuel to the fire. He figured that as soon as classes started up in earnest, the Englishman would drop the podcast nonsense and they could be normal drinking buddies, maybe friends.

That was five months ago.

Now, Kell was standing in an asylum’s cemetery, freezing cold, in the dark.

“Why the _fuck_ are we even here?” Kell whines, bouncing on his toes to try and warm up. It’d be fine if it weren’t for the wind, he told himself. It’d be fine if he had a hat, maybe gloves.

“Language, Kell!” Ned calls back. 

No matter how much Kell groused and complained, Ned always answered in a polite, somewhat kind way. As if Kell’s bitching and moaning wasn’t ever going to be enough to get out of this sometimes friendship.

“Language for who? There’s no one here but us!”

“No one living perhaps! But how would you feel if you’d spent your last years in anguish only to be buried in the middle of the woods with no real marker, and the first person you get the chance to talk to in a hundred years is a redheaded wanker, yelling about how you aren’t there?”

“How would I feel?”

“Yes, Kell, how would you feel.”

“Probably nothing because death is the end and I will fight you on that, Tuttle,” Kell shouts back. The wind picks up viciously for a few seconds. Tree limbs shake and sway against the dark sky; leaves twist on the wind, smacking into Kell’s face and hair. He hears leaves crunching under shoes as, he assumes, Ned walks back to where he stands.

“Looks like you’ve upset someone,” Ned hums as he moves around Kell to inspect the other half of the graveyard. “You should apologize before things get really out of hand.”

“We are outside in the dark, Ned. What’s going to get out of hand besides wild animals?” Kell rolls his eyes.

Ned pauses and shoots Kell an irritated look. “Why must you be so impolite? You don’t talk this way to anyone else.”

“Because those people are alive.”

“They were alive once too!”

“Fine then! Because those people are real.”

“How do you know they aren’t?”

“What would you say if I said I just know?”

“I’d say you’re deflecting and that I’d still like you to apologize, even if you don’t believe.” Ned stuffs a hand in his pocket, shining his flashlight in a bright circle between them. “Seriously, Kell. You could have done it nine times over by now. If ghosts aren’t real, you’ve wasted two words’ worth of breath. If they are, well… basic human decency.”

Despite the dark, Kell squints at him. He grits his teeth together and scowls at the circle of flashlight. Another gust of wind hits him in the face, shivers running through his skin, and Kell finally relents. “Ugh… fine. Fine! I’m sorry. I’m cold and tired–.”

“And generally have a bad attitude about most things.”

“Sure, Ned. I’m cold, tired, have a bad attitude, and am sorry if I offended you. It was rude of me,” Kell finished with a huff. He levelled an annoyed stare at Ned. “There. Happy?”

Ned smirked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I am, thank you.”

Kell sighs and steps forward. “Whatever. Here, let me help you look.”

“You want to help now?”

“Yes.”

“It’s because I have the flashlight right?”

“Shut up.”

“Kell?”

“Shut up and show me the name. The faster you find what you need, the faster I get to make you buy me Vietnamese take out.”

“I thought we agreed on Korean.”

“As long as it’s warm and you pay, I don’t care.”


	2. Ouija Board

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lila, Ned, and Kell use a ouija board.

“C’mon, Kell, don’t be such a baby,” Lila teased with a cat-like smile. She waves the planchette in the air, drumming her nails on the table top. “It’s just a piece of wood with letters. What’re you so scared of?”

“I’m not  _ scared _ ,” Kell sniffed, crossing his arms tighter as he leans against the wall. “I just don’t want to participate. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” Lila smirked. She had been working at Kell for the last ten minutes, but put the idea down in front of Ned almost two weeks ago. It had been at the end of her double-shift at the Stone’s Throw, Ned and Kell were four drinks in each, and Ned’s podcast had come up. Kell hadn’t been paying much attention -- there was someone sitting at another table who was holding his attention better than talk of cold spots, ley lines, and spectral energy --and missed Lila’s fateful offer. 

Through a friend of a friend, she had come into a ouija board made from the floor of a demolished colonial home. A home in Salem, no less. And Ned could record them using it for the first time on his show, if he liked.

Even if Kell had heard it, he wouldn’t have paid the offer any mind. Ned had told him over and over again how Ouija boards could be dangerous if used improperly, could be a calling card for the nastier side of the spirit world, how rules needed to be followed exactly. Kell wasn’t a believer, not even close. He knew stories and places, but he doubted “proof” to the bitter end. Ned insisted on him being a part of the show writing just to keep the topics from getting too wildly fanciful. Lila called him a “Suspicious Alyosius.” He was a skeptic, naturally suspicious, almost protective when he thought someone was trying to pull one over on the expat student. 

Kell didn’t believe in ghosts. 

He didn’t scare easily.

But demons…?

Kell could admit quietly, to himself and no one else, that  _ that stuff _ made him shake in his boots. He wasn’t religious, neither was his family. He’d darkened the door of a church exactly once before Ned was tugging him all over hell’s half acre to graveyards and churchyards and haunted belfries. But something about demons and exorcisms, the ritual and reactions, made his skin crawl and his spine wriggle in ways it wasn’t supposed to. 

Part of him blamed Hollywood. Part of him blamed himself for sneaking downstairs to watch  _ The Exorcism of Emily Rose _ at eight because his parents wouldn’t let him. Part of him blamed himself for getting suckered into being fearful of something so old that could be explained away with modernity -- science, medicine, food safety, anything. Kell couldn’t help it, but he kept it hushed and refused to participate.

It was silly.

It was stupid.

He didn’t have to.

“I don’t need to have my hands on the board for you guys to do it,” Kell scoffed. “It’s not a big deal if I just sit over here and make sure all the microphones and shit work, right?”

Lila raises an eyebrow, still holding the planchette next to her head. “Don’t be a scaredy-cat, Kell.”

“I’m not!"

“It really does work better with more people, Kell. It makes it safer, remember,” Ned says, turning in his chair. “And you don’t need to keep an eye on the tech. I’m sure you set it up perfectly when we got here.”

“I thought the rule was only that you shouldn’t use it alone?” Kell grumbled.

“Yes, but the more the better,” Ned countered. 

Kell shook his head. “No, I’m not doing it. I’m just going to sit here and let it happen. You still get your show and, heck, I’ll even do a commentary reel for you to slap on at the end of the episode. I just don’t want to, okay?”

“Are you…” Ned stares at him for a moment, mouth open. He pushes his glasses up his nose. “Kell, please be honest. Are you scared right now?”

“No…” Kell grits his teeth together, digs his nails into the sleeve of his tee shirt. He slouched down against the soft, worn cushions of Lila’s couch. Kell felt better keeping things close to the chest, totally hidden if he could. He wasn’t about to start fessing up to stuff now.

“Kell--.”

“If I sat closer to the table, would you both shut up about it?” Kell says quickly. “Seriously? I’ll sit at the table if you would just get on with it.”

Ned and Lila exchange a look -- Ned apprehensive, but Lila mischievous -- before Lila waves Kell over. She taps a single nail in front of an empty seat and grins wickedly. As Kell stands and walks to the chair, he feels his stomach flop uncomfortably. The hair on his neck stands, an odd chill settles in his skin and hands. Ned’s encouraging smile only makes the sensation grow. The harsh clatter of the planchette against the board sends a shiver up his ribs and Kell tenses his shoulders to stifle it.

“Okay, now that we’re settled,” Lila begins. She leans over to light a few candles. She adjusts the planchette in the center of the board, resting her fingers lightly on top. Ned follows suit, nudging Kell’s ankle with the toe of his shoe. Lila rolls her eyes. “Put your fingers on the thingy, Kell.”

Kell glares at her. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Well, if you don’t, it messes with the closed circle or something,” Lila shrugs. “Just put your fingers on the board. It’s not going to bite.”

“You might…” Kell grumbles. He stares at the black carved wood and lets out a harsh breath. “Fine…” He sits up straighter, swallows back the nervousness clinging to the inside of his throat, and mimics the other two. He glares at Lila. “Happy now?”

She straightens her shoulders. “Very. Now, let’s begin. Ned, you know how to do the honors?”

The other boy nods, glasses sliding down his nose again. “Yes, thank you.”

Kell immediately tucked his head and closed his eyes. He listened half-heartedly to Ned’s opening speech, introducing them to the spirits that might come through, clearing his throat to begin his questions. He bit the inside of his cheek, shifting his molars back and forth until he tasted blood. He did the same on the other side, just to keep his mouth shut. Just to keep his even expression steady.

No words could describe the feeling that ran through him when the planchette began to shift. He sucked in a lungful of air, opening his eyes to watch the heart-shaped piece slide to a few letters at Ned’s asking. He hadn’t heard the questions. Didn’t know if it was meant to be a name, a place, an object. He didn’t know. All he knew was the thing moved.

“How long have you been on the other side?” Ned asks in a clear, soft voice. The same voice he used when reading a book section, an essay, a portion of podcast voiceover. Lulling, steady, perhaps comforting in its unchangingness. 

Kell watched in vague horror as the planchette swung again. It moved in wide arcs, hitting each portion of it’s answer before settling down in the middle of the board, awaiting it’s next question. Always smooth, always settling for a second before moving to the next. He knew it wasn’t real, not entirely, but it was entrancing. Fascinating. He glanced up at Ned, who was having the most fun out of all of them.

“Five… seven…” Ned tilted his head, casting his eyes around the darkened living room. “Fifty seven years then. Am I correct?”

The planchette drifted to  _ yes _ , then back to the center.

Kell mistakenly let his gaze drift to Lila. He found her watching him closely, humor pulling at her features. She didn’t say anything, but he already had the pit in his gut to know she would have a lot to say about something later. 

Ned asked nine more questions before closing out and thanking whoever they might have been talking to -- if no one was moving the planchette. Kell pulled his fingers away as if they could catch fire and moved from his chair to his laptop faster than he expected. He turned off the recording, shaking out his wrists and hands as he did.

“That was fun,” Lila trills. She bounces up from her spot and walks toward the galley kitchen. “I’m making tea if either of you want any!”

“Yes, for the both of us,” Ned calls, then turns to where Kell was crouching at the coffee table. He lowers his voice to a whisper, and Kell couldn’t be more grateful. “Are you alright?”

“Mhmm, fine.” Kell answers in a rush. “I just… I need to make sure this saves right.”

“Are you sure?” Ned presses. “You seem… erm. Unhappy?”

“Good eye,” Kell sighs, clicking a few keys. “I am. Very. I don’t like this shit, you know that.”

“I do, but--.”

“But what?” Kell shoots back in a harsh whisper. “I don’t like  _ this stuff _ , Ned. The haunted houses, the bad spirits, the aliens, the black magic, that I can handle. I can handle that no problem.”

“So what can’t you handle?”

Kell turns to look at him, finding disarming sincerity in his expression. Kell really wanted to hate Ned sometimes, he really did. Even still, he couldn’t find a good enough reason to break off the friendship. No matter how annoying Edward Tuttle was, he at least proved that Kell could make friends. If he wanted to.

He lets out a slow breath, double-checking the kitchen before answering. “You spend so much time telling me about demons and possession and how boards are calling cards for all the bad shit, and then expect me not to get a little freaked out when you want me to use one. It’s a little unfair don’t you think.”

“Oh,” Ned breathes. “Oh I see… I understand your reluctance.”

Kell chuckles. “My reluctance… That’s a nice way of putting.”

“So… next time, I should leave you out of it?” 

“If you wouldn’t mind. I’ll still do tech and come with you. I just--.”

“Want to be left out of it.”

“Yes.”

Ned nods, pausing for a moment to think. “You’ll still come with me to the Hoosac Tunnel though, right?”

“And Fall River stuff too, don’t worry about it,” Kell agrees. “No satanic ceremonies or anything too out there though, okay?”

“Wasn’t planning on it, but deal.”


	3. Costumes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1940s AU: Holland and a little Nasi figure out Halloween for the first time.

Holland couldn’t help but stare at the little girl sitting across the table from him. “Natasha, I… I misunderstand you, I think. Could you tell me again?”

“Trick-or-treating,” Nasi repeated in her small voice, barely audible above the clamor of the diner around them. “Mrs. Goldstein asked me if you were taking me this year. I said I didn’t know because I didn’t know what it was, so I asked my teacher. And it’s when on Halloween, you can go around to doors and people give you candy.”

“I see…” Holland nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. He turned the page of the newspaper, still not quite understanding what Nasi was telling him. “So, our neighbors would be expecting you to ask?”

“Mhmm,” Nasi hums through a mouthful of toast and jam. It was the only thing he could get her to eat this week and, rather than fighting her, Holland had conceded. As long as she ate all of it, he wouldn’t worry. She swallowed and continued, matter of fact. “Laurie Stevens said that her mama makes popcorn balls and fudge for it. Oh! And you’re supposed to dress up.”

“Dress up?” 

“Yep! Like a ghost or a witch or something.”

“Oh, you mean a costume?”

“Yep. No sweets without a costume. That’s the rules.” Nasi put down her toast, nodding very seriously. She reaches for her juice, leaving Holland to attempt to catch up to her. 

Nasi was sneaky, sometimes tricky. She had a tendency to wander off wherever the first path of distraction led her and was slowly learning to cover her tracks. But she wasn’t old enough to be sophisticated in her fibbing. Most of them only succeeded in making Holland laugh. This rang different to him though. She was very sure, she had a solid story, and no gaps in the tale. So Holland was inclined to believe her about all this.

He wasn’t going to be making fudge or any sort of sweets, that was for sure. Even after a year, he still wasn’t entirely handy in the kitchen, still was relying on things he remembered Talya doing. He didn’t trust himself with an oven, let alone molten sugar and chocolate. The only dessert he could make perfectly, without aid, was honey cake, just as he remembered his mother doing, and he certainly wasn’t going to go to all the trouble for neighborhood children.

He took another long sip of coffee. As with most parenting things, Holland decided he would cross that bridge when he reached it, whenever that would be.

“Those are the rules, you say?” Holland said slowly, skimming the newspaper. It was a slow day, reporting wise. “What would your costume be, Natasha?”

Nasi brightened, all but bouncing in her chair in excitement. “I wanna be a bumblebee!”

“A bumblebee?”

“Yes sir. We’re learning about them in school, butterflies and dragonflies and moths too!”

Holland smiled and leaned forward onto the table. “Why a bumblebee?”

Nasi grinned right back. A magenta swipe of raspberry jam was smudged on her upper lip. “Because they give us flowers and honey and yellow is my favorite color!”

“Yellow is your favorite? I thought you said last week that it was green.”

“I like green too!”

“You pick a new favorite every week, Natasha.”

“So? I don’t want any of them to feel left out.”

Holland chuckled. Parenthood didn’t come easily to him, but at least Nasi was happy. A happy, bright little girl that he knew, deep down, Talya would have been incredibly proud of. He motioned with two fingers for her to lean forward and pulled out his handkerchief, dipping a small corner of it into his coffee. Slowly, he wiped away the dried jam, laughing more as Nasi’s nose curled. She hated the smell of coffee.

“Very well,” he said when he was finished. “You will be a bumblebee. Now where are you planning on getting the costume of yours?”

“You make it,” Nasi nodded once, suddenly serious.

“Make it?” Holland raised an eyebrow. “Natasha, I do not believe my army sewing will be enough for this.”

“But you’ll try right? I’ll help, I have a drawing and everything.” Nasi tilted her head one way, then another. “Please, papa?”

Holland relented immediately. She only used  _ papa _ when she really wanted something. “Alright, yes. I will try. We can look at your drawing at home and I will do my best. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes sir, thank you.” Nasi grinned, then stuffed more toast in her mouth.

“You’re welcome,” Holland answered, turning back to his newspaper and his coffee. He had no idea how this would turn out. He didn’t know what a costume needed or where to get any of it, what Nasi’s plan was exactly and how she would help at all. The little girl had been in his sole care for a little over a year and a half and, in that time, Holland had learned one new thing about himself. Simply, that there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Nasi. Whether it was all for the little girl, for his own conscience, or in the hope that Talya would have been proud of him, he didn’t know.

~*~*~

“Natasha, hold still.”

“But-.”

“But nothing. If you keep moving, my needle will stick you in the ribs.”

Nasi frowned, letting out an exasperated breath. “Yes, sir. I’ll quit.”

“Thank you, Nasi,” Holland said, offering her a smile from where he sat on the floor. “I will be finished very soon.”

“Then I can put on my wings?”

“Then you can put on your wings.”

As it happened, Nasi’s drawing was surprisingly simple. A yellow jumper with several black stripes for her to wear over a turtleneck and tights. Some simple tracing and steady, slow stitching. It didn’t look half-bad. It was all meant to be worn with her school shoes, bouncy antennae she borrowed from a classmate, and wire and mesh wings Mrs. Bustamante had loaned them. 

Holland always felt odd accepting the generosity of the women in their building -- given partially out of kindness and partially because they did not believe he could handle it alone. But, to his credit, they all had seemed rather impressed with the little endeavor. The wings were only offered when Nasi admitted they hadn’t decided how to make them yet.

For the last twenty minutes, Holland had been sitting on the floor hemming Nasi’s dress as she wore it. He had only ever used needle and thread to darn socks, sew buttons back onto his uniforms and shirts, and occasionally repair rips where bullets had grazed his shoulder or collar. This was perhaps a little more detailed, but no more difficult. So long as Nasi was standing still.

Holland tied off the last bit of thread and clipped it, stowing the needle in his rolled shirt sleeve. “There. Finished.”

“Can I get my wings?” Nasi asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Holland nodded. “Yes, Natasha, go get your wings.”

He grinned watching her run off to the bedroom, hearing her rattle around as she pulled on her wings and antennae and shoes. Halloween wasn’t for another four days, but Nasi was ready to burst with excitement. She had already commandeered and decorated a paper grocery bag with bats, pumpkins, and little black cats. When she had nightmares and insisted on sleeping with him, she would tell him about the kinds of treats she was hoping to get. The two of them had very little to look forward to most days. Having a little thing like this was worthwhile, if only to get them through to December.

“It’s perfect!” Nasi squealed as she barreled back into the living room, arms spread in imitation of her wings. She spun in perfect circles on the dinged-up wood floors. Leaning up against the sofa, Holland applauded as she bounced about. He had just stuck the needle into the scrap fabric when Nasi jumped at him, arms wrapping around his neck. “Thank you, papa!”

“Of course,  _ pchela _ ,” Holland held the little girl close to his chest, just as he had many times before.


End file.
